


Post Fight Cigarettes

by Heartfulkings



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oneshot collection, Prompts open!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22379539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heartfulkings/pseuds/Heartfulkings
Summary: All for the Game One Shots drabbles, headcannons, etc.
Relationships: Abby Winfield/David Wymack, Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Kevin Day & Neil Josten, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Renee Walker/Danielle "Dan" Wilds
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. A quiet moment

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave any suggestions for more in the comments below :)

Andrew Minyard is very particular about a lot of things. Most would say it’s a silly habit to keep as a grown adult, but he disagrees. Routine is important. Routine allows him to do things without thinking, grabbing egg cartons and bread and milk and his near daily marlboros. Routine makes it easy to disconnect completely, lets his brains leak completely out of his ears and still remain productive. Like a zombie if a zombie could be more concerned with coupon clippings than brains.  
It takes force to prematurely kick Andrew out of this kind of funk, and usually no one bothers, too scared to risk his ready fists. That’s the way he prefers things. He doesn’t have to build the shield around him. He prefers letting the rumors formulated from day one do the job. Today his forcefield is quick to shatter, as well as the eggs that Andrew drops when a shadow bumps into him. Well, the initiator is not a shadow but a man, though it’s understandable where the mistake comes from.  
The man is hardly taller than Andrew and yet it seems a greater difference with the legs on him, like a well muscled deer. So an athlete, then. He’s wearing appallingly short shorts peeking out from under a worn through sweat shirt. The man’s smiling faintly, prepared to deescalate an imaginary confrontation.  
All of this should add up to an innocuous picture, the sort of person to be easy to dismiss in a Where’s Waldo book. Then you tilt your head, and the illusion changes. In a certain light, scars along the sides of his face become sort of visible. Detectable in a plasticky way. The man has an ice pond of pink tissue on one side, arching his eyebrow, leaving one eye slightly heavier lidded than the other, and ends at his chin. On the other side are knife marks that were clearly left untreated. They marr his cheek with raised and puffy flesh, the longest one touching his nose and all three curving around his jaw.  
The man’s smile turns sharp at Andrew’s obvious attention to his scars. Andrew stops staring. Although he’s looking at the floor now, white speckled with grey and now stained by the gelatin ring of egg, his flawless memory doesn’t let him forget the sight of what must be Dorian Gray’s portrait stepped straight out of literature.  
‘Get a good long look?’  
‘If you don’t want anyone to look at you, don’t become a slaughter house victim.’  
‘How would it be my fault if my face got slaughtered?’  
Andrew slides a critical eye over the man’s clothing. ‘Don’t hitchhike next time.’  
This makes the guy laugh, slightly croaky like it was punched out from the lungs, and Andrew is overcome with a feeling of dread. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. He’s supposed to tell him to fuck off, maybe clench his fists for good measure and be left alone. That’s what he wants right now. That’s why even left his apartment, so Renee couldn’t weasel out a heart to heart again. And yet, when the man in step, talking incessantly and clearly trying to get a rise out of him, Andrew can’t bring himself to distance himself. Neil, the stranger introduces himself, and like a fucking fool, Andrew gifts his own name in turn. 

They step outside together, Andrew and Neil, and the inevitable gravitas that winter cold has brings them to circle closer together than they likely would with anyone else. Andrew takes out his cigarette pack and offers one to Neil, who takes it between two fingers and holds it daintily by his cheek instead of smoking.


	2. Where the Limit of Immortality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whats up I’m back- said to an audience of like. No one. Anyway here’s an immortality au.

When footsteps introduce Neil, distinctive movements borne from someone accustomed to measuring out every step, Kevin doesn’t raise his head yet. Part of his lethargy comes from an insane hangover, knocking at his mind’s door as Kevin resists giving into the urge to cure the pain with another healthy sip of vodka. At a measured enough glance, this explanation can be construed as an excuse. Neil evidently picks up on that particular truth, (irony, Kevin is too tired to put up with irony) and so he’s the first to speak.  
‘Why did Riko say he bought me?’  
There’s only so many ways to delay the inevitable confrontation and Kevin mentally bristles at the feeling of being interrogated. He says, ‘You’re not really him. Tell me you aren’t really Nathaniel.’   
‘Don’t call me that. It doesn’t matter who I used to be. I’m Neil.’   
Kevin finds it within himself to look up, to look Nathaniel in the eyes. Eyes cheaply disguised as brown. Finding Nathaniel hidden from Neil is like taking another glance at an ink blot after being told what someone else interprets it to be. It casts doubt on Kevin’s initial perspective- how could he ever have skipped over the way Nathaniel tired eyes, the way his mouth is set much like Wymacks, like the Foxes’, like Kevin’s own? The default expression of people too old to shoulder the knowledge of what eternity feels like. For fucks sake, Nathaniel has the same haircut he sported the last time he and Kevin met! A fucking mullet, only changed by its color.   
Kevin finally responds with a curt, ‘You know exactly why that matters. You know exactly what happens when you try testing the extent of your immortality.’  
Nathaniel shifts in place a second, hunching up his shoulders under that ridiculously oversized jacket of his. A similar position he’s taken under Wymack’s anger. ‘I know, and I’m not trying to get myself killed. I’m just- Running only works so long. The next step is accepting the inevitable.’ The last sentence is drawn out, almost mocking.   
‘If you have that much of a death wish, why are you here? Why not just go straight to the Moriyamas’?’   
‘I thought you came to Arizona because you remembered me. When it turned out you didn’t, I decided to stick around and figure shit out.’  
That’s the flimsiest answer Nathaniel could’ve provided, but Kevin lets it slide. ‘You’re an idiot.’  
‘I was desperate.’   
‘Why’d your mother agree to this? She’s supposed to be the smart one.’  
‘Not smart enough to stay alive.’  
Before Kevin can offer what would amount to empty platitudes, Nathaniel continues. ‘She died last year and I buried her on the west coast. I have nothing and no one else. It was pretty obvious that you didn’t recognize me like I said, so I signed onto the team.’  
‘How could I not remember you?’ A thought that doesn’t really need to be verbalized. Still, for a moment Kevin loses himself in the past. It’s not out of nostalgia however. When he debriefs the situation it’s more like a conversation the two have had before, with Kevin getting increasingly frustrated and Nathaniel shrinking more into himself, oddly resembling the skittish teen he’s been acting as.   
When Neil asks, ‘Will you still teach me?’   
And Kevin responds, ‘Every night.’  
It’s the promise of two friends steeling themselves to see what lies at the end of eternity.


End file.
